The First Day of the Rest of your Life
by SerenityFrogLuvr3
Summary: Uhh, this was the first fanfic I ever wrote, and I thought it was brilliant at the time. So be nice. Basically, Mark gets HIV no, not MR and doesn't want to tell. Extreme drama ahead! Rating upped for ch. 6. Warning, Deals with cutting.
1. Chapter 1

I've finally gathered up the courage to clean this thing up. It is really terrifying, having to face all this bad writing and realize it's my own. I'm not claiming to be great or anything, but I just can't believe this is mine : ) Anyway, so expect this to have a total overhaul. It's still not going to be perfect, but it's going to be a hell of a lot better. Thanks to everyone who actually sat through the original by the way, you guys are awesome.

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_...A crash from the kitchen, accompanied by the unmistakable smash of shattered glass. Running out to find Roger sprawled on the floor in a glittering sea of broken glass. The cabinet above his head was open and a carton of milk lay on its side, its contents quickly making their escape across the counter and onto the floor._

Mark gave a small groan and dropped his head into his hands, remembering that fateful day with horribe clarity. He recalled perfectly the panic that had gripped him. How he'd dropped to the ground beside Roger, feeling glass fragments dig into his legs and not caring. He'd tried to revive his friend but failed, and endd up making a frantic 911 call. The paramedics had taken him away in a stretcher, still unconcious and bleeding heavily from pieces of glass embedded in his hand where he'd been holding the cup when he'd fallen. He had looked so pale...

Angrily, Mark pushed himself out of his chair and paced restlessly to the small, dingy window that adorned the opposite wall. Not finding this as satisfying as he had hoped, he strode back to the chair and dropped heavily into it.

As suddenly as it had come, the anger fell away, leaving in its wake draining exahaustion. And more remembering.

_...himself, standing helplessy in the kitchen after the paramedics had taken away Roger. Not knowing what else to do, he'd set to work cleaning up the mess. He scoured everything, including himself and his blood-soaked clothes. Anything to keep himself occupied._

Mark could see Collins' face when he entered the flat, responding to a hysterical phone call the filmaker didn't even remember making. Finding Mark on his hands and knees, scrubbing franticly at a spot of dark blood that refused to relinquish its hold on the cold linoleum. He hadn't even noticed that his legs had started to bleed again...

His mind ran through numerous trips to the hospital. Tests and checkups. The worried mutterings of doctors. Apparently, there was somethingy- something wrong with Roger's something-something else. It was basicly a complication with his HIV inffection that had caused his collapse.

There had been forms to fill out, then questions about the accident. When Mark revealed the details to the doctors, they immedietly ran more tests, accompanied by more forms.

Sighing, Mark lightly fingered his camera lying on the table. The familiar motion helped him feel a little calmer, a little more able to think clearly.

_'Fuck. You should have seen this coming,'_ he berated himself silently. _'All these years without an incident, and I get too comfortable. Why should I be surprised that it finally happened?'_

For a long time Mark sat there, his mind slowly turning to more and more morbid thoughts. The last light of day faded, leaving his little bedroom heavy in shadows. Mark made no move to turn on the light, prefering the dark. It hid from him the sinister piece of paper sitting on the table.

After a while someone knocked on his door. He didn't answer, and prayed they'd leave him alone.

No such luck.

_'Somebody up there hates me,'_ he thought bitterly as the door opened a bit.

"Mark?" he heard someone call quietly. Then in surprise, "Jesus, Mark, why the hell are you sitting in the dark?"

He squeezed his eyes shut as the light switched on, then reluctently opened them again. He turned to the man now standing in the doorway, looking at him with concern.

"Hey, man, are you feeling okay?" Roger asked, taking a step forward before hesitating. He looked well, maybe a little on the thin side, but still okay. The only reminder of that day was his lightly bandaged hand.

"Yeah," the blonde grinned up at his friend, moving his hand casually to hide the letter on the table, "just zoning, I guess. It's been a long week."

It was a dirty trick, but Mark knew that mention of what they'd been through since Roger's accident would drive the musician away more surely than anything else he could say. And he was right, as the tall man adopted a guilty look and made a hasty retreat. He said something about dinner being ready soon, but Mark was no longer paying attention.

He watched the door close behind his firend's back before looking back down at the letter in front of him. His vision blurred suddenly with unshed tears. He didn't need to see the writing to know what it said, though.

Mark closed his eyes again, but found that he couldn't escape the words that were seared into the back of his eyelids.

His name in official, impersonal script adorned the top of the paper, followed by a bunch of medical gibberish. None of that was importent. No, what was important were the words at the bottom of the page. Just seeing them in his head, bold and final, made him feel cold. As he held back the tears that now fought to be free, he examined his life summed up in a couple of words.

_HIV positve_


	2. Chapter 2

God, this story is making me want to rip something into tiny little pieces. I'm warning you now, I'm not changing everything around. The story is still hopelessly cheesy, the writing is still just a tad akward and the entire plot barely stands on its own two feet. But it was my first, and try as i might I can't jst get rid of it.

So after that, I'm sure you're all super-excited to read my story! : )

Oh, and since I've been forgetting this, here's a disclaimer- **RENT not mine.**

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Mark had decided against telling his friends about his diagnosis. For some reason he was embarassed, probably because it was his own stupid fault in the first place. He'd always been careful about his friends and the illness they carried, yet he'd run to Roger's side without a thought about whether it was really the safest thing to do. Also, although he didn't want to really think about it, he had the weirdest feeling that something like this would change everything he was. It was fine for Roger or Mimi to have HIV, but Mark? He was the one who steadied them all. If he got sick too then they'd have no one.

They were irrational and ridiculous arguements, a large part of him knew this, but ultimately he stayed quiet. Maybe it was just easier.

But try as he might, he couldn't throw away the letter. Over the last couple of days he'd tried and tried, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. Finally, he put it in the top drawer of his dresser, where it acted as Mark's personal tell-tale heart.

Mark entered the bathroom and shut the door, leaning against it. He'd been feeling strange, and was worried that maybe he was getting sick.

_'Come on, Cohen, don't be paranoid. You've been feeling like crap because you're so fucking anxious,'_ he told himself sternly, adjusting his glasses and standing up straight, _'just go back out there and tell them you felt weird. Just... leave out why.'_

He'd freaked out before because of something Joanne had flippantly said as Roger and him ate lunch at the girls' little apartement. Mark couldn't even remember what had been said now, something about dying. He smiled with dark humor. _'I wonder if memory loss is a symptom of HIV? No, it's probably just a symptom of me being an idiot.'_

He recalled perfectly, however, the sense of suffocating panic and how he'd had to get out of the room right then. He wondered if this would continue the rest of his life, however short that may be.

He tried to remember how his friends had acted when they'd been diagnosed. Collins had simply disappeared for a while, and had come back a year later almost back to his old self. All Roger had done was shoot up. Neither of these scenarios helped Mark in his present state.

The filmaker heard footsteps outside the door, and scrambled out of the way just as Maureen swept into the room without knocking. "Mark, what the hell," she said plaintivly, "Why did you run out on us like that?" She gave him her most patronizing look, but Mark barely noticed. There was that suffacating feeling again, like the room had suddenly got smaller.

Holding his trembling hands still, he mustered up the best smile he could manage. He just hoped it would be enough to convince her.

"I'll be right there, just give me a second."

She looked suspisciously at him. "What are you doing?"

Mark muttered something unintelligible as he pushed the protesting girl out of the room and shut the door in her face.

Once she was gone he slid to the floor in front of the door. He couldn't breathe! Panicking, he fought agianst the weight in his chest for every gasp of air he took. He clenched shaking fists and tried to still his rapidly beating heart. He wondered vaguely what the hell was wrong with him.


	3. Chapter 3

Maureen's POV:

What the hell has him all bent out of shape? she wondered, standing outside the door in mild disbelief. That didn't last long.

"Mark!" she shouted, turning to bang on the bathroom door. "You damned well better let me in there right now!"

She was about to continue when she heard something from the other side of the door. A strangled gasp, then a series of jerky, shallow breathes.

Alarmed, Maureen tried to open the door, only to find it blocked by something. "Mark!" she cried desprately, struggling hopelessly with the door.

Roger's POV:

Joanne and Roger sat across from each other, speculating lightheartedly about the cause of Mark's sudden departure. Roger smiled to himself when he heard Maureen call to Mark. The red-head sounded royally PISSED.

He stopped smiling, though, when he heard Maureen calling Mark's name again. This time she didn' t sound pissed.

She sounded scared.

He got up and ran to the small hallway with Joanne close on his heels.

"Maureen, what's the-" Roger stopped when she turned to him, panic in every line of her face.

"Roger, there's something wrong! There's something blocking the-" Roger stepped past her and pushed at the door. It gave ever so slightly. Calling Mark's name and getting no response, he set himself and threw his shoulder into the bathroom door. He heard a pained grunt from the other side, but he'd opened it enough for him to slide his slim frame through. Entering, Roger feared what he would find on the other side.  
Mark's POV:

Walking into the flat, Mark stopped in surprise. On the couch sat Roger and Collins deep in conversation. When he walked in they stopped and looked at him with questioning eyes, which Mark pointedly ignored.

"Collins! What are you doing back in town!" he didn't have to fake a smile as he strode over to greet his old friend with genuine excitement.

"Hey, man, how are you doing?" Collins grabbed the smaller boy into a bear hug before holding him at arm's length and looked him up and down, "Roger was right, you do look like shit. Now what's this I hear about you collapsing at Maureen's?"

Mark gave Roger a withering look that seemed to have no effect what so ever, then turned back to Collins with a smile he hoped looked reassuring. "The doctor said it was a panic attack. A bad one, but still just a panic attack. Said to lay low for a while, just do something relaxing, you know."

Nodding Collins made his way back to the couch as Mark started back to his room. He froze, though, at Roger's next words.

"Hey, why don't you take your camera out and film a little? That always relaxed you before." Mark whirled to face his friend. Roger watched him sharply for his reaction.

Mark longed to tell everything. He wanted so badly to at least tell Roger how he couldn't even bring himself to touch his camera. It scared him, a reminder of what he'd lost, of his life before HIV. But this was life after HIV, and post-diagnosis Mark couldn't even bring himself to open his mouth for fear of what would come out of it.

Collins POV:

Collins watched in shock as Mark reacted to Roger's comment with a mixture of fear and guilt. He watched as the flash of emotion left his face as quickly as it had come. He could see the exact moment when the mask came down around the boy's face, and he smiled at Roger.

"Nah, I think I'm gonna spend some time in my room. I've already got tons of footage. I'd like to edit through those first."

Mark then made his hasty retreat into his bedroom. Collins turned to Roger, "You weren't kidding. There is something seriously wrong with him. I've never seen him so jumpy. And when you mentioned his camera! I thought he was going to have a heart attack!"

Tiredly, Roger just rubbed his face and nodded.

Roger's POV:

Roger didn't know what to do. There was clearly something going on with Mark, that was as plain as day. The question was, what was it, and why was he so bent on keeping it a secret from them?

Collins placed a comforting arm around his shoulders and shook him a little. "Hey, man, don't eat yourself up. You can't help him if he doesn't want help. Our Mark's a smart kid, he knows when a problem's too big for him to handle."

Roger wished he could believe his friend, but he wasn't so sure. Yes, Mark had always been the one to ask for help when he needed it. ''Actually, I was the one always trying to hide it', he thought ironically.

But now? Well, Mark had been acting so weird, it was hard to tell what he would or wouldn't do any more. And it scared Roger shitless to watch his best friend now, because whatever it was, it was clearly hurting Mark deeply.

Besides, that wasn't even what was bothering him the most. No, what had kept him up the last couple of nights was the image of Mark, lying on the floor of the Maureen and Joanne's bathroom.

It hit him just then that that must have been what he looked like, when he'd passed out in the kitchen. Maybe that's why Mark had been so upset lately. Looking back, he supposed it had begun shortly after he'd left the hospital. 'God only knows his accident made me feel like hell. Why wouldn't mine do the same to him?'

Roger shared his theory with Collins, who agreed wholely with it. But as their talk turned to other things, Roger couldn't shake a feeling of unease. 


	4. Chapter 4

Mark's POV:

It had been two weeks since Mark's collapse, and he'd felt like crap ever since. He'd had several panic attacks during those weeks, but nothing like that first one. He'd learned that it helped to sit down and think about something else, anything else. His favorite thing to think about when an episode hit him was his friends; smiling, laughing, and having fun.

That day, Mark found himself alone in the flat. Not knowing what else to do, he sat down to read a book he'd gotten from Collins. He still hadn't been able to touch his camera, and that depressed him. He tried not to think about it, though, as he became engrossed in the novel.

It really was a good book. Mark had probably been reading for about half an hour when someone knocked on the door, making him jump.

Startled, he looked at the clock. Roger wasn't due home for another twenty minutes. He crossed to the door, wondering if perhaps Collins had forgotten his keys. Opening the door, he was almost knocked over when the person on the other side stumbled into his arms.

'What the-' Mark watched as Maureen righted herself and made her way to the couch, weaving ever so slightly. 'Oh, great.'

Dropping down on the couch, Maureen looked at him. She held a bottle of wine in one hand, already more than halfway gone. She smiled at him as he made his way over next to the couch and sat beside her.

"Maureen, do you want me to call Joanne? She could bring you home. I'm not really feeling up t-" He was brought up short by her hand suddenly clamped over his mouth. She stared at him in exhagerated concentration, then slowly removed her hand and brought her lips to his.

For a moment, Mark was floored. Then he pushed her away. "Maureen, what the hell?"

He was terrified to see tears suddenly well up in her eyes. "Oh pookie, I can't believe you almost died. Seeing you on that floor, Oh My God. Oh, Mark, I'm so so so sorry." Her drunken rant continued as Mark tried to comfort her, reassuring her that he was okay.

He was caught off guard when she turned her head to his and once again kissed him. He tried to pull away, but she held his head firmly, and he soon quit fighting and deepened the kiss. He was only a man, after all.

It was all so comfortingly familiar, her lips on his, the feel of her body as he slid his hands up over her hips and around her back. He hoped that it would never end, it was just like old times, it-  
Maureen's POV

Maureen forgot her fear as she felt Mark respond to her advances. Oh, god, she had missed this. Joanne was wonderful; sweet, sexy and perfect, but she wasn't a man, and Maureen had missed the feel of a man's hard chest and strong arms. She slowly let her hands wander, savoring. She felt the button of his jeans and started to undo it-

Only to feel Mark freeze, and then pull away. Not understanding, she once again snaked an arm around his waist, flashing him her most sultry smile.

Maureen was startled to next find herself on the floor, thrown violently away by the filmaker. Her shoulder hurt where she'd landed on it. She looked up in confusion at the angry face of her former lover. She had never seen him look so scary.

"Leave." He said coldly, leaning down to wrench her to her feet. Stumbling, she pulled her arm out of his grasp and stared at him. "GO, Maureen. Leave, now." He led her to the door.

"But, pookie, I don't understand. What did I do?" she asked desprately. She didn't want to lose him again, like she thought she had when she'd found him facedown in her bathroom.

His face softened ever so slightly, revealing- what? Maureen didn't know, but she was glad to see the terrifying stranger that had possesed him leave. Now he was just Mark, and Mark replied quietly, "You didn't do anything, Maureen. I just need you to leave me alone."

For the second time in as many weeks, Mark shut the door firmly in Maureen's face. 


	5. Chapter 5

Mark's POV:

Mark sat at the small table, staring sullenly at his camera. Slowly, he brought his arm up and let it reach across the table. He stopped , his hand hovering in the air above the camera, then sighed and brought his hand back to prop his head up.

The truth was that he didn't want to film anymore because he felt that his life had suddenly become a documentary of its own, one that Mark didn't want others seeing.

With a sigh, he returned to glaring at the innocent piece of equipment as though it was the one who had given him HIV, instead of himself.

And there was another reason that Mark didn't want to tell his friends his problem, especially not Roger. While he blamed no one but himself, he knew that it would be difficult for his best friend to see it that way.

'Oh please. You just won't tell them because you're a wimp,' he told himself. A knock on his door interrupted his thoughts.

Mimi stood outside his bedroom. Mark saw Roger and Collins behind her in the living room, obviously preparing to leave. 

She smiled at him. He tried to smile back, but lately his smiles had been wearing thin. He was begining to fear what people could see beneath them.

"Hi Mark."

"Oh Hey Mimi. Long time no see. How are you?"

"Oh, I'm good. And you?"

"I'm fine, thanks." Mark could feel how akward this conversation was, although he didn't know why. Searching for something, anything, to say, he settled on, "So, are you guys going somewhere?"

"Oh, yeah. We were gonna head over to Life Support. We were wondering if you wanted to come?"

Mark froze. His mouth went dry, and he could feel the air around him thicken. Taking a step back, he strove desprately to retain at least some semblance of control.

Mimi's POV:

Mark looked at her as though she had suddenly grown a second head. He backed away, eyes wide. "Mark?" Mimi said quietly.

"Um, no, no, I don't think... errr... no, I'm gonna stay in...ummm"

"Oh, well, I just thought you might wanna, ya know, film a little of it or something." She watched as Mark's eyes got even bigger, and the little color left in his cheeks drained away. He swallowed hard before answering.

"No, you know I'm already done with that documentary. I... no...-"

"We just wanna see you get out of the house." Roger said, approaching the two of them.

"Yeah, Come on Mark-" began Mimi, before she was cut off.

"I SAID NO!" Mark shouted, startling Mimi so that she was the one backing up.

Roger took her place in front of the doorway, adopting an aggressive stance. "Don't you yell at her!" He said angrily.

"Maybe I wasn't yelling at her." Mark replied, just as angry.

The two friends stood there for a long moment. Mimi could feel the tension building. Finally, Roger turned away. "Come on guys, let's go."

Scurrying out after the two men, Mimi took on last look at Mark. He stood leaning against his doorframe, one hand on his chest. She couldn't be sure, but as the door shut, she thought he was crying. 


	6. Chapter 6

Mark's POV:

Mark was feeling another panic attack coming, that suffacating feeling of not enough air. Damn, this had to stop. This was gonna be a bad one. Mimi inviting him to Life Support had thrown him. 'If only they knew how badly I want to go.' Anxious, he paced the room before perching onto the edge of the bed and dropping his head into his hands.

It was coming on fast, though, and he desperetly searched for something, anything, to halt the approaching wave of emotion. His mind suddenly turned to something he hadn't thought about for a long time. Just the thought froze him for a second. No. He couldn't He hadn't done that since he'd moved to the city. That was years ago. But he needed it. It had always helped before. Slowly, he raised his head and turned to face the bedside table. Hesitantly, he opened the drawer and reached inside, pushing aside piles of stuff until his hand found what he was looking for. He carefully removed the razor blade, its surface tarnished and dull.

God, he hadn't done this since high school. Back when he'd been living in Scarsdale, he'd cut almost everyday. But the urge hadn't overtaken him since he'd moved here, and he'd hoped it would never again. But now, as he held the small peice of metal, he felt it again. The need to slice into his skin. So, knowing exactly what to do, he placed the razor against his pale, tender inner wrist and began to pull it, adding more and more pressure. He winced when he first felt it bite into his skin, but kept pulling, and the pain was immediatly replaced by a cold sensation, flowing out behind the razor.

He closed his eyes in sick pleasure. It felt nice, the feeling of hot blood welling up in the icy trail of the blade. Looking down, he saw the red start to bead up on the little line he'd created.

It hit him then that this blood was tainted, diseased. He suddenly wanted it out of him. So he placed the razor next ot the cut he'd just created and began pulling again.

Mark didn't know how long he sat there, running the razor blade over his skin and allowing the numbingly cold feeling take over. He sat as one hypnotized, experiencing no pain, feeling as though he was completly disconnected from the arm he was watching so intently.

He did feel a sudden flash of disappointment, though, when the razor was suddenly snatched from his hand. He whirled around to confront the terrifingly furious face of Roger Davis.

Roger's POV:

Retuning from the Life Support meeting, Roger said good-bye to Collins at the door before turning to face the empty room. Feeling bad about how he'd treated Mark before, he decided to go check in on him.

Slowly opening the bedroom door, he saw Mark with his back to him, sitting on the bed engrossed in something. He was about to turn back around when he was struck by a sudden curiousity. Guiltily, Roger stole silently to the bed and peered over his shoulder...

...and froze in horror at what he saw Mark doing. He sat there, making long horizontal cuts on his thin wrist. His brow was furrowed in concentration and his eyes were glazed. Already blood covered his hand, and some had fallen to stain the bed sheets a brilliant crimson.

Roger's hand whipped over Mark's shoulder and grabbed the razor away from him. Mark whirled to face him, wearing an expression of surprise and guilt. Furious, Roger shook the pin in his face.

"What the hell is this! What the fuck!" Roger continued swearing and shouting, not knowing what to do. He was terrified, and couldn't believe what he had just seen.

Sullenly, Mark dropped his head. He brought his injured arm to his chest, staining his grey shirt. The jerky movement caused all of the blood droplets to collapse, and his arm was suddenly streaked in ribbons of blood. Looking down, he gave a little whimper and clamped his other hand around the wrist.

"Here, let me see it." Roger said, his anger now tempered with concern. He reached down, but before he could help, Mark looked up at him with fear and jerked his hand out of reach. He stumbled to his feet and backed away from him, but was brought up short by the table set against the wall.

Hurt, Roger took a step toward him. "What the hell is wrong with you? I was only trying to help!" He took another step, but had to duck as Mark's camera went sailing over his head. It smashed into the wall on the other side of the small bedroom, falling to the floor in a heap of parts.

Bewildered, Roger stared at Mark. He couldn't believe that he had just trashed his camera like that. "Mark?"

"Don't touch me!" Mark screamed, looking like a cornered animal, his eyes wide and frightened. "Don't fucking touch me." He made a dash for the door. Roger caught him, and was surprised when Mark started struggling franticly to be free. For his efforts, he got his face raked by Mark's wildly flailing hands.

Not knowing if the blood on his face was Mark's or his own, Roger got scared. "Hey, be careful! Your hand, it's bleeding. Don't-"

He was interupted by Mark, who suddenly stopped fighting and instead fell to the floor. Hunched over on his knees, Mark started to talk to himself, although Roger couldn't hear what he was saying over his racking sobs

Alarmed, Roger crouched beside him and uncertainly put an arm around his shaking shoulders. When he wasn't pushed away, he bent his head and caught a bit of what Mark was saying

"It doesn't matter, it doesn't matter anymore. Oh God, Oh God!"

Roger didn't know what to do. He couldn't see Mark like this. Feeling horrible, he got up and fled. 


	7. Chapter 7

Joanne's POV: 

The phone rang. Maureen went to answer it. Joanne stayed in the kitchen, making up some sandwichs and pretending not to listen. All the sudden, Maureen came running in.

"Get a jacket on! Something happened to Mark!"

Mimi's POV:

Mimi put the phone down and looked around her apartment. Roger sat by the window, looking out. Going over, she sat across from him and put a small hand on his knee. Glancing over, he gave her a sad smile and covered her hand with his own.

When they had returned from the Life Support meeting, they had planned to all hang at Mimi's, to give Mark a little more time to cool off. But Roger had ducked out, saying that with how the filmaker had been lately, he'd rather go check up on him. So, leaving Collins to return to Mimi's apartment solo, Roger had retired to his own flat.

When Collins came back, he and Mimi had sat around talking. But soon, they'd heard the unmistakable sound of shouting coming from above their heads. Collins had offered to go check up on their friends, but Mimi was just as worried, and had decided to join him.

Once they topped the flight of stairs, they were startled to discover Roger just coming out of the door. There were tears in his eyes. He had managed to choke out just enough of the story to give Mimi chills. Mouth set in a grim line, Collins had entered the apartment to see what he could do for Mark as Mimi took Roger down to her own.

That had been about half an hour ago. Roger hadn't said a word since then, and Mimi knew that he felt awful for running out on Mark just when he'd needed him most.

"Hey?" Mimi said soothingly, running a hand up and down his arm, "You wanna talk?"

Roger shook his head and turned back to the window, but not before Mimi saw a tear roll down his cheek. Silently, she continued rubbing his arm, joining him in his examination of the world outside.

Five minutes later, there was a knock on the door. Mimi stood to answer it, and let Maureen and Joanne in.

Responding to their questions, she quickly told them all that she knew of what had happened. When she had finished, all that Joanne could say was "Oh my God." Maureen had started crying.

Mimi was startled when Roger suddenly stood up. "I'm going up there."

Joanne nodded, and Maureen said thickly, "So am I." So the four of them made their way somberly to the apartment above. Standing outside the door, it appeared that Roger suddenly lost his nerve. He stared at the closed door with fear. Wordlessly, Mimi put a hand on his shoulder. Wordlessly, he responded, touching her hand briefly before entering the flat.

Roger's POV:

Entering the apartment, the first thing Roger saw was Collins, sitting on the sofa with his head in his hands. He lifted it up when they entered. He'd been crying.

He walked to Roger and swept him up in a hug, which Roger returned. He then turned to face the rest of the group.

"Boy really did a number on himself." He said, his voice husky, "I only just now managed to calm him down a bit. He's asleep right now, exhausted. I... managed to get a little bit out of him... I..." Collins hesitated, seeming unwilling to go on.

"What?" asked Mimi, her voice sounding soothing and sweet. God, but Roger loved that girl. "What did he say?"

"He said...well." Collins turned toward Roger, his voice breaking. "I'm sorry, man. Jesus, I'm so sorry. He said... He's HIV positive, Roger."

The effect of these words was immediate. Joanne gasped, then put her arm around Maureen as the other woman dropped onto the couch with a strangled sob. Tears instantly filled Miimi's large brown eyes.

Roger said nothing, afraid of what would happen if he opened his mouth. He stared at Collins in disbelief. "Impossible." He said faintly.

Collins reached out a hand to him, but Roger pulled away and ran to Mark's door.

There lay Mark, curled up in a ball on his bed with his glasses still on his face, looking as though he'd simply fallen asleep after a long day. Slowly, Roger approached the bed, trembling slightly. He heard someone stop in the doorway behind him, but didn't turn to look. Gently, he removed Mark's glasses, putting them carefully on the table beside him. The man moaned faintly, his brow furrowing as he moved restlessly in the grip of a bad dream.

Roger sat on the edge of the bed and slowly stroked Mark's arm until he relaxed, mirroring the movement Mimi had used on him minutes ago. Looking up, he saw the others watching him from the doorway. 


	8. Chapter 8

Mark's POV:

He awoke to an empty room. His arm hurt like hell and, looking at it, he could see why. It was covered in dry blood. At this visual stimuli, all the events from before he'd fallen asleep came rushing backe to him. With despair, he recalled how he'd finally choked out to Collins what was happening to him. Strangely, this memory did not bring on a panic attack as he'd feared, but instead filled him with a kind of bitter relief. Sitting up, he reached for his glasses, which someone had removed while he'd slept. Rising, he made his way to the closed door and heard hushed voices from the other side. Bracing himself, he opened the door. 

Five startled faces turned towards him like flowers to the sun, only these faces were bathed in tears instead of light. Suddenly, he was uncomfortable, and he dropped his head to study his barefeet intently. He didn't know what to say, and apparently neither did anyone else.

Finally, he looked back up at them all. "So, I guess Collins told you. I'm really sorry."

At these words the spell that had held everyone seemed to break. Maureen started to sob, and Joanne rushed over to comfort her. Roger walked the length of the room to stand before Mark, suddenly looking angry. "You'd better be sorry. Where the hell do you get off keeping something like this from us! Where did smart, sensible Mark run off to? Huh!"

Meaning to reply in anger, all Mark managed to do was drop his eyes again as he whispered, "I'm really sorry."

With a growl of annoyance, Roger strode to the large window and stood staring moodily out.

Mimi's soft voice broke the tension, "How did it happen, Mark?"

Roger's POV:

At Mimi's question, Roger turned slightly to better hear Mark's answer.

"Well, do you remember the day Roger went to the hospital. When he passed out in the kitchen?"

Roger went cold. This was what he'd feared ever since Mark refused to move out when Roger caught the virus. It was his fault, his-

Mark's voice broke through his spiraling thoughts. As though reading his mind, he said firmly, "It wasn't your fault, Roger. It was my own. I was stupid. See, when I went over there to help you, I didn't realize that you'd smashed your hand, and; Well, Collins, you remember how I'd gone and cut my legs all up in the broken glass?" Collins nodded slowly. "Well, I just didn't realize that not all the blood on the floor was mine. It wasn't your fault, Roger."

Mark walked over and put a hand on Roger's shoulder. He shrugged it off, but Mark wouldn't give up. Turning Roger around to face him, he looked him straight in the eyes, "I'm sorry, Roger." He said quietly.

Without a word, Roger pulled Mark into a rough hug. Releasing him, he asked suddenly, "Why didn't you tell us, though?"

Mark fidgeted and looked down at his feet, "I don't know. I guess I just... I was afraid. And embarassed, a little. After all, it was my fault. I was so stupid! And I figured that I could just deal with myself. I mean, you guys have lived with it longer than me, and you're all just fine. I should be able to live with it. I shouldn't need help."

"Mark," Collins said gently, "We were all a wreck when we first found out, and none of us were able to handle it by ourselves. You shouldn't have had to-"

He turned from everyone and paced to the other side of the room, as though unable to face them, "Don't be ridiculous. I... I can't explain it." He stood moodily at the wall, and tried to continue anyway, "I... I don't know why I was so affected by it... I'm not... I couldn't... Agh!" He kicked out at a heavy table by his side, which slid a few inches across the bare floor.

It finally hit Roger what Mark was trying to say. He felt guilty for not being able to handle it by himself, and by having to admit that he needed help. Mark had never liked to bother people, and he had known that everyone would make a big deal out of it. And he felt weak, for letting it drive him to the point that it had. He felt that he should have been strong enough to deal with it by himself.

Mark continued in a quieter voice, "And... well, I was worried that you'd, you know, go and blame yourself. I knew it would tear you up inside." This last sentance was clearly aimed at Roger. He felt his anger drain away as he looked at the miserable figure before him. However much this upset the rocker, he had forgotten that it was a hundred times worse for Mark himself. He'd gone and forgotten what it was like when he'd found out he was HIV positive.

He finally knew, too, what was really bothering Mark. It was Roger himself. He'd gone and acted exactly as Mark had feared he would, angry at Mark, and blaming himself. Cursing himself for being such an idiot, and feeling awful for upsetting the boy even more, Roger walked over and turned him around to face him.

He refused to look him in the eyes. Instead, Mark turned his face down and to the side. His pale lashes hid his blue eyes from sight, and he looked even younger from this angle. There were tears running down his smooth cheek.

Not knowing what to say to convey the depth of feeling and regret that he felt, he instead hugged Mark roughly. He felt him tense for a moment, then relax and return the embrace. He started sobbing into Roger's shoulder.

Roger had to fight the strong urge to run again. He thought of all the times Mark had been there for him, during April's death and his own fight with accepting HIV/AIDS, his heavy drug abuse and the hell of withdrawal. Mark had always helped him, even when he refused to admit he needed it.

And so he stayed put, reminding himself that his fear and discomfort was nothing compared to what Mark was feeling, and how much he needed Roger just then.

Finally, his crying had been reduced to small gasps and hiccups. The others had come over to comfort him as well, and Roger relinquished the shaking boy into their care. As Mark's eyes met his own, he smiled to reassure him. Slowly, hesitantly, Mark returned the smile. 


	9. Chapter 9

Mark's POV:

Heading down the street, he glanced up at a large grey clock sitting atop an even larger and greyer building. Damn, I'm gonna be late, he told himself as he hurried to his bike, being careful not to jounce his new camera. His friends had gotten it for him last week. God, I love my friends. But they're gonna kill me if I don't get my ass moving.

He pedaled furiously, nearly getting run over in the process. Finally, he arrived at the big brick building. Entering, he was greeted by the smiling faces of his friends all turning to look at him.

He took a chair left for him between Roger and Collins, the latter leaning over to whisper, "What the hell kept you?"

"Sorry, I had to get this baby fired up," He replied quietly. Collins smiled at him as he took out his new camera. Winding it up, he started filming the Life Support meeting as people began introducing themselves.

Finally, it was his turn. Heart racing, he took his camera and held it away, turning it so that it faced him. Smiling bravely up into the lense, he proclaimed,

"I'm Mark, and I about a month ago I contracted HIV." 


	10. Epilogue: The one of us to survive

They sat in the loft, not saying anything. There was nothing to say. They had just returned from yet another funeral. This was going to get old fast.

They should have seen this coming. Mark had always been sickly, always catching any passing cold or bug. It was just that none of them had ever really translated that into a weak immune system. But when he'd caught the HIV virus, the docters soon said that Mark had a snowflake's chance in hell of living another two years.

The docters had been wrong before, and they all prayed that that was the case now. They got their wish, but unfortunatly they hadn't been specific enough. Mark had only lasted a year and a half with the virus raging inside his bloodstream. He had spent his last few nights in this very loft, after he refused to return to the hospital where he had spent most of the past few months. They had all stood by with him, and he had gone suddenly and violently one evening.

They had cried themselves out, and now sat staring at eachother silently. Even Benny had joined them, as he had in Mark's final months, reminding them all that he and Mark had once been close friends. Roger held Mark's beloved scarf, running it through his hands. Unexpectedly, he looked up at them all with a small, crooked smile.

"Hey, do any of you know how Mark actually got this scarf?"

They all looked at one another before realizing, no, they didn't.

"I always thought he was just born with it on." Mimi said quietly, and everyone laughed sedatly.

"No, actually. He shoplifted it." Roger said, staring pensivly down at the striped scarf in his hands and smiling at the memories, and at his friends' surprise, "Yep, when we were eighteen. Well, I was eighteen. He was only sixteen, and it was the one and only time he shoplifted. He was scared shitless, but afterwards he was so proud. It didn't matter that I kept telling him this was the ugliest thing I had ever seen, and the lamest thing anyone could ever steal. He still loved this stupid thing."

Roger than seemed unable to go on. Mimi, sitting on one side of him, gently took the scarf from his lap and began stroking it herself, adopting the same pensive look Roger had worn, "I always used to tease him about his scarf."

"We all did." Collins reminded her from the couch.

"Yeah, I know, but I mean I really used to tease him," she smiled, "Used tell him I thought it was kinky, and I'd list all the dirty things you could do with it. Once I even asked if me and Rog could borrow it for a night. God, I used to make him blush so bad."

"Yeah, I know. He was so cute when he blushed. I used to love doing that to him." Maureen said, reaching over and slowly pulling the scarf onto her own lap, "Hey, do you guys know how I came to live with you"  
"Ummm, sort of. Not really. I know one night he came home with you in tow, and said you had no place else to sleep. And pretty soon you made yourself comfy in his bed, and the rest is history," Collins said, laughing.

Maureen shot him a dirty look before continuing, "Yeah, well, it was much more romantic than that! See, my boyfriend had just kicked me out, and I really didn't have anywhere to go. I was just kinda wandering when these drunks started harrassing me, you know, trying to get some kicks. Well, it had just taken a turn for the worse, and I was really starting to get scared, when up strides Mark. Jeez, he was so handsome at that moment, blazing righteous anger like some vengeful God."

"How poetic." Roger mumbled, and Mimi elbowed him with a giggle. Maureen glared at him before continuing

"Anyway. So here comes Mark, running up to save me, and the guys back off. God, he was so lucky that they were just some drunks looking for a good time, and not too serious. They could have kicked his ass. But Lord, you should have seen him. Like, he would have gotten his ass kicked a hudred times over, just to protect me. I think that's what attracted me to him. The fact that he seemed so... good."

Maureen lowered her head, and silent tears began to fall from her eyes. Joanne placed an arm around Maureen's shoulders while Benny slowly rubbed the redheads knee. She looked up at him in surprise, and he smiled at her, reaching for the scarf. Maureen relinquished it willingly.

"Yeah, our Mark was one hell of a guy. Decent, you know." Benny absently wrapped the rough fabric around his wrist, "I mean, he was always willing to help someone out when they needed it most. Look at me! He and I were childhood friends, our parents knew eachother, so it just seemed, I don't know, convenient. 

"Soon, though, we just drifted apart. When I moved to New York City, my luck had run out, and I didn't know what to do. I remembered hearing something about Mark moving here, so I looked him up. I just showed up on his doorstep and, no questions asked, he welcomes me in. But that was Mark for you." Benny was now crying as well, and it was Maureen's turn to put a comforting hand on his knee. Benny gave her a grateful look before covering her hand with his own.

"Mark was always bringing home strays." Roger smiled.

Collins reached over and extracted the scarf from Benny as he spoke to Roger, "Hey, man, you remember how you two met me?"

Roger was silent for a moment, than he doubled over, laughing insanely. Collins joined in, and the rest of the group looked at eachother.

"What?" Mimi asked, "What's so funny? How did you guys meet?"

"Oh God!" Roger managed to gasp, before succombing to more laughter. Collins was a bit more controled.

"Well, I... umm, well, I met them out at a club one night and... well, I..."

"What?" Joanne asked impatiently, eager to be let in on the joke.

"He tried to pick Mark up!" Roger choked out. There was a shocked silence.

"You didn't." Benny said, starting to grin.

Collins had begun laughing again, "Hey, he was cute! I have never seen that boy go as red as he did that night. I thought he was going to piss himself."

They had all begun laughing now, and it lasted almost a full minute before they had calmed themselves. Collins looked over at Joanne, the only member of the group who hadn't yet spoken, and offered her Mark's scarf. Silently, the lawyer took it.

She sat stroking it for a minute, tears welling up in her eyes. They wondered if she had anything to share, since she really hadn't known Mark like the rest of them had. But then she spoke in a quiet, trembling voice.

"Out of all of you, Mark was probably the one I felt most connected with. Besides Maureen, of course. He and I, well, we had a sort of... I don't know. Basicly, he knew what I was going through with Maureen at her most difficult," here, Joanne smiled ruefully at her lover, who squeezed her hand reassuringly.

"Strangly enough, even though I think he still had feelings for her, Mark seemed to genuinly want to help me with Maureen. Whenever I was having problems, I knew I could talk to him, and he'd be there to sympathize or commiserate, or just to listen." Joanne's eyes were running more freely now, and her voice was choked with tears. Maureen embraced her, and Joanne sobbed into her shoulder. Mimi reached out a hand and picked up one end of the scarf, leaving the other to dangle in Joanne's grasp.

"Yeah, Mark was always there when me and Roger faught. And when my withdrawal was too much, he'd always step in to help, even though I'd barely gotten a chance to ever really know him before. He once spent all night in my room, just talking, even though I refused to speak to him at all. He knew I needed it, and him annoying me so much really did help get my mind off the drugs."

Roger gave a small laugh, grabbing the end of the scarf that Joanne had just dropped, "Yeah, I remember that. He used to do that with me all the time. God, he drove me crazy. But it worked. Jeez, it's because of him that I'm really here today at all."

"Hell, he's the reason we're all here." said Benny.

Collins leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, "Now that I've heard all our stories, he's really the one who brought us all together, isn't he."

Joanne nodded her head in agreement, and Mimi gave a small, "yeah"

They sat in silence for a moment. They couldn't believe their happy, sarcastic friend, their Mark Cohen, was really and truly... dead.

The silence was surprisingly broken by Joanne, who suddenly looked up at them all with a smile growing on her tearstained face.

"Hey, guys. Did you know that Mark was one hell of a dancer?" 


End file.
